


battle wounds

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking insufferable sometimes?" Mikoto blows a stream of smoke upwards. He’d changed its trajectory last-minute because he’s generous and trying to spare Kusanagi from a little more suffering tonight.</p><p>"Right back at you, sweetheart," he shoots back, securing the final knot of the bandages once again with his teeth and Mikoto has to pry his eyes away for a whole host of reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	battle wounds

**Author's Note:**

> set maybe vaguely after k side:red

 

It’s after a fight that’s drained everyone twice over. 

The bar clears out and Totsuka sings Anna to sleep, stumbling out half-asleep some minutes later himself. 

Kusanagi leans over a makeshift basin out of a stainless steel bucket and takes a swig of his oldest whiskey straight from the bottle before pouring antiseptic over the open gash in his forearm.

Mikoto sits across from him, a tightness in his jaw he can’t shake out. Instead of hissing at what Mikoto knows is the inevitable burn, he chuckles instead. The part of Mikoto’s lizard brain that isn’t inopportunely turned on is probably something like equal parts red hot rage and pitch black self-loathing. 

 _Not all that far from baseline then_ , Kusanagi would say if he could hear him. The shitty thing is that he probably can, if the look he’s giving him is any indication.

"Cut it out--whatever yer sulking about."

The Kansai in his voice is getting thicker and thicker which means he’s more drunk that he looks; Mikoto can’t decide if that makes this all better or worse. 

"That’s gonna leave a nasty scar," Mikoto contemplates out loud around his cigarette in turn.

Kusanagi laughs, "In the name of my liege! I wear this battle wound with pride! Have you no appreciation?"

 _Wasted_ , Mikoto thinks, scowls and says, " _Yeah_ _okay,_ cut that shit out."

He’s humming distractedly now as he wraps the bandage around his arm, supporting it with his knee and tearing and the other edge with his teeth. "Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re mad?" 

And maybe Mikoto was wrong about his assessment because he’s more than coordinated enough for this. Then again, he could probably do it in his sleep what with all the years he’s spent cleaning up after and wrapping up and keeping all of Mikoto’s blood and gore preferentially inside rather than outside of his body. Mikoto by now knows better than to even offer to return the favour in any capacity. 

"Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking insufferable sometimes?" Mikoto blows a stream of smoke upwards. He’d changed its trajectory last-minute because he’s generous and trying to spare Kusanagi from a little more suffering tonight.

"Right back at you, sweetheart," he shoots back, securing the final knot of the bandages once again with his teeth and Mikoto has to pry his eyes away for a whole host of reasons. 

"The blood loss is getting to your head," Mikoto says, instantly regretting being so fucking generous. "You gonna make me haul your ass to bed?"

"Ah but does that mean you’ll carry me up the steps?"

"Only to drop you halfway, yeah," and Mikoto grins here in spite of himself.

When Kusanagi looks at the basin and the mess, Mikoto says, "I'll deal with it later."

When Kusanagi turns his gaze on him, skeptical, Mikoto puts out his cigarette and gets up to crouch on the floor in front of the chair Kusanagi's seated on (because heaven forbid he allow himself to bleed near the couch) with his back towards Kusanagi's front.

"Get on. I don’t offer free rides on a regular basis."

"Holy shit, _you’re serious_ ," and Kusanagi nearly howls with laughter. "Like hell, I’m gonna pass this up!’

When he’s upright, with Kusanagi straddling his back, half drunk and half anemic, he says, "Don’t get pissy if you bump your head on the doorframes now," and gains a tighter grip on his legs to keep him from swaying.

Except, halfway up the steps, Kusanagi just. Fucks. Everything. Up. 

He presses a sloppy kiss on Mikoto’s nape, making him swear and  _jump a little_ and nearly drop him on the spot.

"You’re a real fucking menace sometimes," Mikoto hisses through his teeth when they finally make it to the top and into his room. As promised, he turns and drops him on to the bed without fanfare.

Kusanagi catches his wrist though, pulls at him with his good arm until Mikoto’s toppling over and Kusanagi is just laughing and laughing.

"You’re kinda sweet sometimes."

It’s probably meant to be wry but it comes off as a little earnest, or well, at least Mikoto can’t quite tell what the fuck it’s meant to be but his heart stutters for some stupid reason all the same. There’s a dull sort of ache that burns just below his sternum and he can’t quite place it. 

 _How long,_ thinks Mikoto. _How long until--_

But he’s stopped by a hand on the back of his neck, and the breath close to his face.

And there’s the breath he’s been holding himself without knowing it, out of his lungs and into the air now. He collapses downwards and breathes in, leans in towards the warmth and reassuring proximity to a pulse point.

"Told you to stop it," Kusanagi says, emphatic and suddenly clear.

"Didn’t say anything," Mikoto mumbles, not like he has the words anyway. Might not ever. _What the fuck ever_. They’re overrated besides.

"You were thinking it."

Mikoto thinks of the bucket of blood downstairs (his own blood in it even without being in it)--and yes he’ll go back for it even if only to save himself an earful later.

And times like these, he wonders if they must have been cut from the same cloth, by the same blade after all, equal parts bloodlust, adrenaline, fierce loyalty, an endless longing for unnameable things, and then, knowledge without knowledge, heartbeats in time. 

It’s laughable sometimes, a relief sometimes, and a total fucking headache and a half at other times.

But it's also better than being alone in it every single time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is me saying thank you to all the comrades i’ve been fortunate enough to have the company of on this teeny tiny rowboat of a ship. you’re all So Much!!!


End file.
